Military reinforcements arrived shortly, roping off the park and evacuating pedestrians to safety. Braginski was surprised to see the limo awaiting them beyond the traffic block. The driver stood holding the door open for them.

"How exciting!" Toby said, face plastered to the back window. "I wonder if there was a pistol fight? I wish I would have been inside!"

The ride back to the Kirkland Estate was longer than it should have been. Traffic was slow moving and many streets had been closed off. Alfred had taken interest in the automatic door lock, ignoring Toby's excessive talking.

"Great." Toby sneered. "He is back early."

Kirkland was sitting on the porch steps. His head leaned against the railing. The child ran past him, scowling, as he went into the house.

"Get your homework done!" Arthur called after him. "Bloody brat."

"You didn't go on your trip?" Alfred asked, hands slipped into his trouser pockets.

"I ran into some complications." Arthur spoke meekly. He kept his gaze down, arms folded over his stomach tightly. His clothing was filthy and his skin glistened with sweat. "Let me be. I have fallen ill."

"Tsk, tsk, tsk, why must you lie to us?" Said Braginski, he exhaled loudly with a smug grin. "He is injured."

The Englishman glared up at the Russian. His quivering lips were turning blue.

"Injured?" Questioned Alfred.

"Alfred, take him inside." Instructed Ivan.

Arthur was extremely light. His petite body shaking in Alfred's arms as he carried him upstairs to his room. Thankfully, Toby had locked himself within his bedroom. He was tossing a ball against the wall, irritated.

Kirkland was laid onto the bed gently. He shut his eyes tightly, sucking air through clenched teeth.

"Undress him, so we may see the damage."

"I am fine! Let me heal on my own!" Protested the man, guarding his wound. "I just need time."

"Hush now, you will alert the little one." Braginski said, his words polished and placid. "Why suffer longer than necessary, Master? Unless, you are one who likes such things."

"Ivan, enough." Alfred warned, he was not entertained. "Arthur, please, let me help you." With care, he moved Kirkland's hands away. Blood had soaked through his dress shirt. As he began to undo the buttons, Arthur turned his shamed face away.

Many prominent scars covered his chest. Jones tried not to stray from his task, pulling back the soiled clothe. A bullet had hit the man in the abdomen, leaving a round ballistic wound. Alfred was no stranger to this type of injury.

"He was shot. I need to remove the bullet."

"There is a surgical kit under the bed." Arthur said, replacing his hands to compress the bleeding. "Bullets are different than they were in your time. When the bullet enters the body it spreads, latching itself with small barbs to the tissue. They are difficult and painful to remove."

"Interesting." Ivan said, voice bitter sweet. "And what of the poison?"

"Poison?" Repeated Alfred, searching underneath the bed.

"Da. I seem to recall that such bullets are laced with a poison that causes cardiac arrest, or, did I read wrong?"

Kirkland's gaze narrowed.

"I found it." Jones recovered the metal box, popping the lid and rummaging for supplies. "Braginski, shut up or leave the room." He said coldly.

Ivan smiled.

"Da. I will leave you to your work."

Ivan kicked open the door, cracking the framework as he exited.

With steady hands, Alfred, began to fish out the futuristic projectile.

"How did you get hurt?" He asked, struggling to grab hold of the foreign object wedged deep within Arthur's flesh. The tissue attempted to heal itself, making things more difficult.

"I was mugged."

Jones glanced at the man in disbelief.

"You expect me to believe that?"

Kirkland forced a smile.

"I was hoping you would."

"Tell me the truth. If you think I will rat you out, you could just kill me later."

"It is not, you, who I am worried about."

Alfred looked over his shoulder at the damaged door, barely able to shut. He swallowed down his hesitation.

"I will not tell Braginski anything."

There was silence. Jones returned to his work, dislodging the bullet. It finally came free, taking with it small pieces of delicate tissue. Alfred cleansed the wound, dabbing it with a clothe. The area was extremely tender, Arthur, grunted softly as it was sterilized and dressed in bandages. He sat upright when it had been covered.

"Hey, lay back down. I aint done." Protested Alfred.

The Englishman leaned in close. It made Jones uncomfortable. His cheeks flushed red.

"The truth is. . .I tried to kill the Queen." He said in a shallow whisper. "One of her goons gunned me and my partner down. I was the only one who made it out alive. It was my mistake that got him killed." His voice faded off.

Alfred was stunned. Unconscious, Arthur collapsed onto his shoulder.